


One Hour/One Minute

by hidingfromsomeone



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Smut, mentions of other MCU characters - Freeform, therapy conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 06:50:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5575543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hidingfromsomeone/pseuds/hidingfromsomeone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky has his regular therapy session with Sam and sex is discussed. In detail. To both their surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Hour/One Minute

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CinnamonLily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnamonLily/gifts).



> A/N: This was originally supposed to be a short intro scene which led into something else. But it turned into this epic conversation between Sam and Bucky, where Bucky finally gets to vocalize and work through his thoughts about sex and sexuality and all sorts of other stuff.  
> In which Sam is the most awesome of bros, Bucky drinks beer, sex is discussed in depth and then had, and there are some dodgy recollections of 1930’s society. TW for blink-and-you'll-miss-it inappropriate language to describe POC.  
> For Tia's somewhat late Christmas present.  
> This is my first attempt at fan fiction in almost 3 years. Mistakes are mine and mine alone. Please don’t roast me for them.

Sam propped one ankle on the opposite knee and tipped the bottle of beer to his lips. His whole demeanor was perfectly casual. To the untrained observer this was as relaxed as a person got.

Bucky was not an untrained observer.

“So,” Sam said easily. “What do you want to talk about?”

Bucky took a swig of his own beer. These sessions with Sam were Steve’s idea, so of course he went. He wasn’t yet sure if they helped, or how they helped, but there was something awful compelling about the dark-skinned man.

Sam had offered to come over to the apartment Bucky shared with Steve, but that seemed wrong somehow, to let out all the poison in his home environment. _You don’t shit where you eat._ So they met at Sam’s apartment instead. He’d picked Harlem as his new stomping ground, since he left DC and moved to New York. He said he’d had family in the area once, around the same sort of time Steve and Bucky had first lived in Brooklyn, when Steve was small and everything was different.

“Steve and I have sex,” Bucky said, just to see if that got a reaction.

Sam made a face. It might have been a ‘good for you’ face. Or a ‘hmm’ face. He didn’t seem surprised.

“How’s that working out for you?” he asked, a touch of humor in his voice.

“Pretty good.”

Sam laughed then. “You wanna talk about it?”

Bucky shrugged.

“Okay. Is it a casual hookup kind of sex, friends with benefits, or part of an intimate and/or romantic relationship?”

“I don’t know what friends with benefits means. But the third one. I think.”

“You think?”

Sam was good at this. Gentle prompting, echoing Bucky’s own words back at him so he could pick them apart himself. Sam almost never did the picking. He tugged at a few threads, for sure, but he let Bucky figure things out. Bucky liked that about him.

“Well, I think in as much as I don’t know what the first thing means.”

“Friends with benefits?” Sam said.

“Yeah.”

“It’s a euphemism. It’s when two people are friends, and they have casual sex, but they don’t have a romantic relationship.”

“Like you and Natasha.”

Sam tipped his head back, exposing his throat, and laughed. “I didn’t know you knew about that.” He was still grinning when he met Bucky’s eyes again. “I’ll tell you about it another time.”

“Sure.”

“How does sex with Steve make you feel?”

“Good,” Bucky said, like that should be obvious.

“You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to. Is it a new thing, or a continuation of the relationship you had before?”

“Both…” Bucky frowned. “Both. Sort of. We never had sex before. It wasn’t… I don’t know. It wasn’t a thing we did. But it kind of feels like this is picking up where we left off and taking things to their natural conclusion.”

Sam nodded like that made sense. Maybe it did.

“Do you feel like, if you didn’t want to have sex with Steve, you know how to tell him no?”

“But I do want to have sex with him.”

“Say one time you didn’t. If you were tired or hurt or not in the mood for it. Do you think you’d be able to tell him that?”

“Yeah.” He thought about it a bit more. “Yeah.”

“Okay, that’s good.”

“I don’t really understand though.”

“Sometimes,” Sam said, “People feel like they can’t say no to the person they love. Or the person they happen to be having sex with. That can be more common with people who have been through periods of physical or emotional manipulation.”

“Oh. Steve wouldn’t mind if I said no.”

“It’s good that you know that.”

Bucky nodded. “Can I tell you about it or is it weird? I mean, not everyone wants to know about two guys having sex.”

“It doesn’t bother me. Go ahead.”

He took a deep breath and rolled to his feet, the need to check the apartment for bugs too overwhelming to ignore. Back when they’d first started doing this, Bucky would check the whole apartment every few minutes. It meant maintaining a thread of conversation was difficult, if not impossible. Sam never said he couldn’t, though. Never tried to stop Bucky from doing the sweep his instincts were screaming for him to perform. Sam understood.

This room, Sam’s family room, was set up so Bucky could sit in the big leather wingback chair by the window and observe the street below. From that vantage point he could also see the front door of the apartment and the closed door to Sam’s bedroom. If he shifted a little, he could see through to the kitchen and the window there that led out onto the fire escape. Bucky had had issues with that for a while. These days he could let Sam open that window for fresh air and not spend the whole time staring at the gap.

Still, when they were discussing big things, Bucky liked to do a quick check to make sure they weren’t being listened in on.

“We were talking about sex,” Sam said, clearly amused, when Bucky took his seat again.

“Right.”

“And how you like doing it.”

“Yeah. Both ways. I looked it up – I’m a versatile.”

“Is that so.”

“Are you going to laugh at me the whole time we have this discussion? That’s not very professional, you know.”

“Sorry,” Sam said with a bright laugh. “Sometimes it’s hard to get over that fifth grade amusement of all things sex. I’ll be more professional.”

“Are you sure this isn’t weird? I’m talking about having sex with your friend.”

“I spend a lot of time listening to guys talking about a lot worse stuff than having sex. This is a nice change. And I know I’m not showing it real well right now, but I am trained in this.”

Bucky snorted and took another pull on his beer.

“You were saying how you’re a versatile. So am I, if that helps.”

“Wait, you’re not… what?”

“Bisexual,” Sam said helpfully. “Kinsey two, I reckon.”

“What the hell does that mean.”

Sam grinned, stood, grabbed his StarkPad from the coffee table, and sat on the floor next to Bucky’s chair. It only took him a few seconds to pull up a diagram.

“There was this guy, back in the sixties, I think, who decided that sexuality isn’t as simple as gay or straight or bisexual. There’s actually a sliding scale which much better fits how most people think about themselves. If you’re completely straight, you’re a zero. If you’re exclusively gay, you’re a six. Numbers one through five are increments, if you like.”

“Increments of gayness,” Bucky said.

“Yeah.”

He studied the chart. Sam held the tablet at the right angle and didn’t press while Bucky considered his own dating patterns and sexual history.

“I might be a four.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I like dames, but I like fellas more.”

“Here’s the thing – you don’t have to stay the same your whole life. When I was younger, I was almost exclusively attracted to women. Black women, specifically. Then when I got older, I realized I was really into black guys too.”

“Just black guys?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Like Fury?” Bucky teased.

“Don’t go there, man,” Sam said, mock-serious. “He’s like far too many guys I know back home. Father figure, much? No, more like… have you met Luke Cage?”

“Jessica’s husband? I know her more than I know him.”

“Luke Cage,” Sam repeated, his voice almost dreamy. “If that man were single and open-minded…”

Bucky laughed. “I guess I can see the attraction.”

“Anyway.”

“Now you’re with Natasha. Who is definitely not Luke Cage.”

“We are in a non-defined, non-traditional, no-strings-attached relationship.”

Sam struggled to his feet and took his seat back on the end of the sofa.

“What I’m trying to say,” he continued, “Is that my sexuality, and my whole outlook on romantic partners, has changed through the course of my life. It’s okay if you feel differently now than how you did when you were younger.”

“I spent a lot of time not realizing sexual attraction was a thing at all,” Bucky said drily.

“Sure. Maybe you’ve come through that with a new way of thinking about things.”

“I don’t know,” Bucky said. “I’ll work on that.”

Sam nodded. They did this fairly often. Sam would pitch an idea, or a concept Bucky’s way, and Bucky would take it away and think on it for a while. Having opinions was something he was still getting used to.

“Men who have receptive penetrative sex with other men are still looked down on by society,” Bucky stated. His voice sounded different sometimes, like he was reciting facts.

“Yeah.” Sam’s expression was sympathetic. “Sucks, right?”

“Is that a pun?”

“Did you just make a joke?” Sam fired back. “Want another beer?”

“Yes. To both.”

Sam went to the kitchen and came back with two more beers and two big bags of Doritos. Bucky popped the top with his left thumb, sending the top spinning off somewhere into the apartment.

“Show off,” Sam muttered.

“I’ve always thought that was weird,” Bucky said, picking up the thread of their conversation as he tore into the bag of chips. “I get it – that people see the guy who’s getting fucked as the ‘woman’ in the exchange, and that must mean they’re weak and somehow lesser.”

“That’s incredibly insightful of you.”

“Thanks. But it doesn’t feel that way.” He crunched a chip loudly.

“No?”

“No. It feels fucking good.”

“Then my advice would be to keep doing it.”

“I will.” The smirk was instinctive, in the good way, and it felt right on his face. “Instincts,” he said.

“What about them?”

“Sometimes I don’t even realize something is an instinct. Other ones I’ve worked really hard to get rid of.”

“You have,” Sam agreed. He was licking the orangey powder from his fingertips and looking so much not like a therapist Bucky almost laughed.

“I don’t let my guard down very often. With anything. But when I’m having sex with Steve, it’s like I don’t think. At all. About anything. I get this kind of weird blankness in my head but… it’s the good kind. Not like I’m missing something but…”

“Go on,” Sam encouraged.

“It’s not like something is missing, but like there’s so much going on with my body that my brain almost shorts out. I stop thinking, and that’s usually a really bad sign. But when we’re having sex it’s a good thing. Is that bad?”

“Nope.”

“Is it normal? I know there’s no such thing as normal,” he said, noticing the expression on Sam’s face and knowing what he was about to say before he said it. “But do most people feel like that during sex?”

“I’d say it’s not abnormal,” Sam said. “Some people remain very focused. Other people lose themselves in the act. There’s no right or wrong way to feel when you’re having sex which both partners are enjoying. The only time you should stop is if it’s making you or your partner uncomfortable.”

“It’s different when I top and when I bottom.”

“How so?”

It was hard not to be impressed at Sam’s easy nonchalance.

“When I top, it’s like everything is so tightly focused in on Steve. I’m watching him the whole time, sometimes because I don’t trust myself, I think, but more because he’s so goddamn expressive. He’s always worn his heart on his sleeve-“

“You don’t say.”

“And it’s amplified when he’s getting fucked. In a good way.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Are you freaked out yet?”

“Nope.” Sam dug into his Doritos and munched another one. “Go on.”

“So when I’m fucking him, I’ve got this super-focus on him. And when I’m getting fucked, it’s all fuzzy and blank in my head.”

“Do you have a preference?”

“Sometimes I think I do. Then we do it the other way, and it all changes again.”

Sam laughed. “Fair enough. How do you feel you sexual relationship fits in with your romantic relationship?”

“Aren’t they the same thing?”

“Not necessarily. Like we said earlier, you can have sex without romance. And vice versa.”

“Huh.”

The room fell silent as Bucky contemplated that.

“It’s never been before how it is with Steve.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’ve had sex before with other people. And it was good. But it’s different with him.”

“Because you love him.”

“Because it’s Steve.”

“Finish that thought.”

“Because of what we’ve been through together. When we were kids, when we served together, all the shit that went down when everyone thought he was dead and I was… what I was. Coming back and realizing that he was still here. Then figuring this out.”

“All of that makes the sex better?”

“And because I love him.”

Sam grinned like he’d just won something. “So maybe, when you’d had sex before it was just sex. And now, if you’ll excuse the schmoopy expression, you’re making love.”

“Huh. Yeah. I guess so.” Bucky thought on that for a moment. “But more than just, you know, _making love._ I go to pieces with him, but in the good way. Does that make sense? I’ve been so fucking scared of letting go in case something terrible happens. My whole life is an exercise in control, of _not_ letting go. But with him… with him I can fall apart and he’s so strong, the way he holds me, it’s okay. I can do it. I can be that—“

“Vulnerable?”

“Yeah. And it’s okay. Right now, being that vulnerable would scare the shit out of me. But with him it’s okay.”

“Why?”

“Because I love him,” Bucky said with a tiny little smile. “And he’s strong.”

“He is.”

“I don’t mean physically strong. Though he is that. That pisses me off, you know?”

Sam was used to Bucky’s tangents now, how often something would trigger a point in his mind and he’d just go off, following that path until he was satisfied. Sam took it in his stride.

“Tell me.”

“I think some people only think I’m with him because of how he looks now. And don’t get me wrong, he’s gorgeous. But I’ve always thought he was gorgeous.”

“You romantic,” Sam teased.

“Seriously. I know he was a tiny little thing, but my God, he was still beautiful.”

Bucky carefully knotted the empty bag and pitched it at the wastepaper basket in the corner of the room. It landed a perfect three-pointer.

“So, what’s next?” Sam asked.

“What do you mean?” He celebrated his three-point victory in silence. He was so underappreciated around Sam.

“You live together, right?”

“Well, yeah. We still have our own bedrooms though.”

“How come?”

“Because sometimes I just want some damned peace and quiet. And I love Steve, but he can get all up in my space sometimes.”

Sam nodded and wrinkled his nose in amusement. “Sure.”

“But we share a bed most nights.”

“His room or yours?”

“His. Why? Is that relevant too?” Bucky let the sarcasm drip into his words now.

“Naw. Just being nosey.”

“You asshole,” Bucky laughed.

“So you live together,” Sam said, ticking off points on his fingers. “You share a bed, if not a bedroom. Do you think you’ll go public with your relationship?”

Bucky shrugged, picking at a thread in the knee of his jeans. “I dunno, man. Steve has his thing and I have mine… He’s mentioned that we live together but…”

“But?”

“It’s been over seventy years, you know?”

Sam was silent for a minute. Then, “No. Not really.”

“Seventy years. That’s a lifetime. That was the expected lifespan for my parents. Three score years and ten.”

“Yeah.”

“And it was what… last year? That they finally changed it so two guys could get married if they wanted?”

Sam nodded, his expression grim. “Yeah.”

“Me and Steve are still figuring a ton of crap out. You people put a man in on the fuckin’ moon. There are women in the supreme court, we got television, the internet, there’s a fuckin’ black man as President, Sam. Smoking kills you now instead of curing your asthma. It’s been legal for a black person and a white person to get married since the _sixties_ , and yet it was only last year that they made it so a fella could marry another fella? Man.” He shook his head. “I don’t get it.”

“I don’t know what to say. Twentieth century society had some fucked up priorities.”

“My ma, she knew where Steve and I lived. It was what you might call a notorious area. You know what I mean?”

“I know,” Sam said.

“Anyways. She knew what went on. Sailors and whore houses and bars where you’d find men dressed up like dames. That was where we lived, ‘cos we couldn’t afford any nicer area. And my pop? He wasn’t right pleased about it, but there were three other mouths to feed at home and not mine any more, so he didn’t say anything.”

Bucky rolled his shoulders and settled back into the chair. It always got this way, that he would eventually relax around Sam, then the words kept coming, whether he wanted them to or not.

“I told you there wasn’t anything between Steve and I back then, right? But there could have been. If we’d wanted to live like that, like man and wife, we were in the right place to do it. Hell, I knew three queer couples in our building, not to mention the ‘aunts’ who lived together across the hall. If we were like that, we were in the right place to do it. Play house. Whatever.

“But if I’d taken a colored—sorry, a black girl home?” He shook his head. “Sorry, I forget sometimes.”

“It’s okay,” Sam said. “You get that far into your memories, words slip. I’m not offended.”

“Thanks. What I meant to say is, my folks probably would have let us alone if Steve and I wanted to be that way. Maybe not forever, but if we both made it back after the war and wanted to live together, well, they probably would’a let us. For a time, at least. If I’d taken a black woman home they would have never spoken to me again. I’d have been cast out of the house—the damned neighborhood, Sam. I know it ain’t right these days, black people aren’t treated all the way right. But damn. Damn.

“And sometimes I think, hell. They fixed it so black people and white people could get married more than fifty years ago, and it was only last year that they made it right for me and Steve. What the hell happened, Sam?”

“You know, I read somewhere a while back that twentieth century homophobia stole non-sexual touch from men.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you and Steve touch each other a lot. Not in a sexual way. Specifically not in a sexual way, actually. You’re both comfortable putting your hand on his shoulder or on his arm, and you don’t worry about how someone is going to interpret that gesture.”

Bucky frowned. “Should I?”

“I would have,” Sam admitted. “When I was younger I was very aware that there were acceptable and unacceptable ways for me to touch another man. If you crossed that line, you were labeled a homo and you suffered for it.”

“So?”

“I’ll admit to not knowing a whole lot. But in the post-war, ‘baby boom’ years, attitudes to homosexuality got worse. It kind of exploded in the eighties with the AIDS epidemic—you know about AIDS?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. Well, life for gay men wasn’t great back then.”

“It wasn’t great for queers back when I was a kid. There were plenty about, sure, but you’d hear all the time of them getting beat up. Or killed. People knew if you were gonna do it, you had to be quiet about it.”

“You know you don’t have to be quiet about it any more, right?”

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, I know. Still don’t know if I’m ready to tell the whole fucking world about it though.”

Sam nodded. “That’s fair.”

Bucky was quiet for a long moment. Then he laughed, once, and pushed his fingers through his hair. “We got off-topic.”

“Nah. There is no topic here. You know that.”

“I love him.”

“I think that’s pretty obvious to the people who know you best.”

“Do you think… what do you think will happen to us?”

Sam shrugged. “It’s up to you. Really. Right now, there’s a whole world of options available to you both. I’d suggest, and it is just a suggestion, but I think you should just coast along for a while. Figure out your lives. Settle down and let your bodies and minds find out what works for you.”

“Huh.”

“Thing is, Bucky, you’re in no rush. You got your man. Now you get to live your happily ever after.”

Bucky snorted. “I don’t think there’s much happy in our ever after.”

“Seriously? After all you’ve been through, you both deserve a little happiness.”

“Maybe we’ll get married one day.”

It was worth it, that statement, to see Sam’s head whip up in shock. “What?”

“You know. One day. I’d like to be married to him. Since we can and all, it seems a shame to waste it.”

Sam barked a laugh. “Well, sure. Any other life-changing musings you want to discuss?”

Bucky smiled and shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not today.”

“Not today,” Sam echoed softly. “Where you at, Bucky?”

 _Where you at_ was a Sam thing. He’d explained, back in the early days, that if Bucky didn’t feel like he could tell someone how he was feeling, then he would use a sliding scale for reference. One was as bad as it got, and ten was as good as he could imagine.

“Seven,” Bucky said. “No. Eight.”

“Really?”

He’d never gone higher than a five before, as far as he could remember.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

“What are your plans for later?”

“I’m going to go home and find my boyfriend and fuck him senseless.”

“I’m sorry I asked.”

Bucky laughed, the sound almost, _almost_ like how he remembered it. “Someone got me all riled up thinking about fucking him. Now I gotta go do it.”

“Alright then. No one’s stopping you.”

“No,” Bucky said softly, considering his hands folded in his lap. “They’re not.”

 

**

 

It was starting to get dark when he got back to the apartment in Brooklyn. Because of course they’d come back here. It was _home_ in a way Manhattan or DC or Harlem would never be. The streets had the same names, and the people and the accents and buzz of the place, the _feel_ of it, felt like home. There wasn’t another neighborhood in another city in the whole world Bucky would give up Brooklyn for.

The apartment was still, and the notes of long forgotten music drifted toward him as he locked the door to the apartment behind him. Steve played music on the gramophone more often than not. It still didn’t occur to them, not really, to turn the television on for entertainment. They’d read in the still evenings, or go out, or listen to music. That felt right.

Steve was just where Bucky expected him to be. Curled up in a chair like he didn’t know his own size, a sketchbook resting on one knee, the gramophone open and turning sedately. He looked up when Bucky stepped into the room, and smiled, and Bucky felt his heart fall apart.

“Hi,” Steve said softly. “How did it go?”

“I love you. I love you.”

The smile lit Steve up from the inside. It trembled through his body and out through his skin and said _I know,_ when Steve wouldn’t ever say that himself.

“I love you too.”

He set the sketchbook down on the arm of the chair and unfolded himself, reaching his arms out for Bucky as he crossed the room. Bucky clung to him.

After a few moments, Steve shifted his weight, bringing his hand to Bucky’s shoulder, taking left hand in his right.

“Are you tryin’ to get me to dance with you?” Bucky murmured.

“I was being subtle.”

Bucky settled his right hand between Steve’s shoulders and rocked them, back and forth, in a slow circle to the music. It was a wailing jazz number, sexy and sad, and this too felt right.

Steve put his cheek to Bucky’s neck and let himself be led.

“I remember dancing to this.”

“Not with me,” Steve said softly.

“No. A long time ago. We waited so long.”

“It was worth it.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it was.”

They executed another slow turn, then the song ended, the silence crackled, and the next song started. Neither of them thought to let go.

“How’s Sam?” Steve asked.

“He’s good. It was good today.”

“I’m pleased.”

“We talked about sex a lot.”

Steve laughed at that. “Oh, really. What did you have to say about that?”

“Just how good it was. How amazing it is when I’m with you.”

“Hmm. It’s amazing for me too.”

Bucky slid his hand down the dip in Steve’s back, gently skimming over the firm curve of his ass, then squeezed it.

“James Barnes,” Steve said, mock-scolding. “If your ma knew you were necking like that while dancing with-“ he fluttered his eyelashes “-a respectable dame like myself.”

Bucky laughed and turned them both sharply, dipping Steve with ease and kissing him softly.

“My best fella,” he said.

“Your only fella.”

“That too.” He brought Steve out of the dip and leaned up and in for another kiss, slower this time. “You wanna take me to bed and make love with me?” he asked, his voice pitched low, a breathy murmur.

“Always. Always, Buck.”

They left the music playing and Bucky tangled his fingers with Steve’s, gently tugging on his hand as they stumbled to their bed. Bucky felt like he’d been working up to this for hours; his body was thrumming with sexual energy and he knew exactly how he wanted to let it out.

His shirt was off before Steve had even though to unbutton his own and Steve was laughing as he slipped his hands around Bucky’s waist and brought their lips together again.

While his tongue flickered and stroked at Steve’s, Bucky worked open the flannel shirt Steve was wearing and pushed it off his broad shoulders. Steve’s hands stayed loosely gripped over Bucky’s upper arms, his lips only stuttering when Bucky pulled the undershirt from his waistband and started nudging it up his torso.

The kiss had to stop for Steve to pull the undershirt off, and it being off was very important because Steve had the kind of chest that made angels weep. Bucky leaned in and nuzzled at the hollow of Steve’s throat, then licked tentatively at it.

“Shit,” Steve said softly, and that seemed to trigger something in Bucky. There was suddenly a spark in his belly and he pulled his jeans off, not caring if he ripped at them with indelicate metal fingers, shoving his underpants to the floor and dragging Steve onto the bed, on top of him.

“Steve.”

“Just let me—“ Steve stuttered, kicking off his own jeans, then they were blissfully naked, skin on skin, and Bucky knew he was as hard as he got, desperate and wanting.

“Inside me,” Bucky demanded, dragging Steve in for more hot, wet kisses. “I need you inside me.”

“I can do that,” Steve told him. He reached between the two of them, fingers dancing lightly over the soft skin of Bucky’s erection, floating over the soft, sensitive hairs on his inner thighs.

“Now, Steve. I need you.”

Steve hushed softly, his breath dancing over Bucky’s neck and making him shiver. “Let me take care of you,” he murmured.

“Steve.”

“I know, baby. I know. I want to touch you. That okay?”

Bucky nodded.

“Flip over for me.”

There might have been a whine of protest, but Bucky complied, settling himself on his stomach while Steve reached over to the nightstand then got comfortable straddling Bucky’s thighs. A moment later his hands, oil slick, rubbed firmly over Bucky’s back.

“This okay?”

“I wanted to fuck, not a massage,” Bucky grumbled.

Steve laughed. “I wanted to put my hands on you. To make you feel good. Are you going to deny me that?”

“No,” Bucky grouched into a pillow. He pulled it to his chest and turned his head, wriggling his hips slightly to allow more room for his cock. “Oh, god.”

Because Steve’s hands were nothing short of perfect. They glided over Bucky’s skin, gentle and teasing and soft, then dug into his muscles and worked those knots that gathered around his prosthetic arm, exquisite pain and bone-deep relief. Steve worked down his arm, the flesh one, and rubbed the oil even between each of Bucky’s fingers. Then moved to his lower back, thumbs digging into the dip either side of Bucky’s spine, and each slick pass brought Steve’s hands closer to Bucky’s ass.

“Feeling good yet?”

“I think you melted my bones.”

Steve’s chuckle came low and dirty. His voice was rough and when he leaned forward, Bucky could feel Steve’s erection in the crease between his own ass and thigh. His arousal had mellowed into a steady thrum, his body tingling and on edge, yet willing to luxuriate in this feeling of Steve and his hands _everywhere._

“Can I touch you here?” Steve asked. He dipped his thumb into the crack of Bucky’s ass and gently rubbed at his hole. Just teasing.

“Yes.”

“Can I put my mouth on you here?”

The hook of his thumb over that most sensitive spot left no room for misinterpreting his intent.

“Yes,” Bucky whimpered.

Steve kissed the side of his neck, then between his shoulder blades, then the dip of his lower spine. Then his hands groped at the full globes of Bucky’s ass, lifting and pulling them apart, and dove in with the sort of enthusiasm Bucky really should have come to expect.

With slick, wet tongue carefully lapping at his hole, occasionally dipping just inside him, Bucky stopped thinking. He buried his face in the pillow and let his body just _be,_ whimpering and crying out and responding however he needed to. Bucky was shameless like this, lost all concept of shame and propriety, rocking his ass back onto Steve’s tongue as his cock throbbed and demanded more.

“Oh my god, Bucky,” Steve gasped, resting his forehead on the heavy curve of Bucky’s ass.

“I can’t beg you any more,” Bucky said. His voice was wrecked. “If you’re not going to fuck me just leave me here to die.”

Steve barked with laughter. “You’re so…”

“Horny?”

Steve put his thumb back on Bucky’s hole, gently teasing again, testing to see if he needed more prep. He could have asked Bucky to flip over, but this was Steve goddamn Rogers, and he was stubborn enough to decide to do that himself. Bucky found himself on his back, staring up into sweet blue eyes, now hazed with lust.

“You ready for me?” Steve asked as he pushed his thumb into Bucky’s ass, right up to the second knuckle.

“Yeah. So much.”

“Rubber?”

“No. Get some slick and get inside me, _please_.”

Steve chuckled and did as he was told, maybe, Bucky thought, for the first time in his life. Bucky gripped onto those strong, thick forearms as Steve lined his cock up with Bucky’s hole and, without taking his eyes off Bucky, carefully nudged inside.

“Okay?”

Bucky nodded, speechless, and watched Steve’s face as it was washed with pleasure. His body knew this, they’d done it enough by now, and Bucky reveled in the gentle stretch of his hole around Steve’s cock. It would only last a few moments, that incredible burst of pleasure and twisting discomfort. He’d waited for it for what felt like forever.

“Steve,” Bucky whimpered.

“I’m right here.”

“In me. I need you.”

Steve huffed in amusement and lowered himself to his forearms. Bucky pulled his legs up to wrap around Steve’s waist; he had the leverage to pull Steve deeper now.

Their lips met, gentle brushing kisses, and Steve rocked slowly but surely until his thighs met Bucky’s ass and there was nothing at all left between them.

“This is all of you?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. He mouthed at Bucky’s neck, his jaw, his throat; licking and biting and kissing. “This is me.”

Bucky tipped his head back and sobbed. The pressure inside him was intense, perfect and deep and everything he’d been craving. Steve was so good at making this good. It was theirs, even when Bucky shared moments of it with Sam. Sam didn’t know how Steve gently pillowed Bucky’s head with his arm, didn’t know how they shared breath and spit, didn’t know that noise Steve made when Bucky dug his heels into Steve’s ass and lifted his hips and tried to find another millimeter of Steve to fill himself.

“Am I hurting you?” Steve asked.

“No. No. This is perfect.”

Steve chuckled softly. “More?”

“Oh god, yes.”

Bucky tangled his fingers in Steve’s hair, letting the fine, silky strands fall slowly, and pressed his metal hand on Steve’s back. There was something almost amusing about how Steve applied himself to sex… it was the familiar stern-faced determination that Bucky had seen for most of their lives. Steve cared; about making it good for Bucky, for this act to mean something. His thrusts were measured and perfect, his cock nudging at Bucky’s swelling prostate as their kisses grew more sloppy, more demanding.

“Let go,” Bucky said with a breathless chuckle.

“Huh?”

“Just… just fuck me, Steve.”

Bucky almost—almost—regretted his words. Steve growled, there was really no other way to describe the sound that came out of his throat, and hitched his spare arm under the crook of Bucky’s knee. Then he went to town on Bucky’s ass.

And with the way he was trussed up in Steve’s arms, there really wasn’t any way for Bucky to get a hand on his own cock, which was throbbing and leaking and desperate for attention. All he could do was hold on and groan, the noise punctuated with each snap of Steve’s hips against his ass. His breath turned into a litany of _fuck, fuck, fuck_ and Steve kissed the cries from his lips, and the sweet, dirty chuckle was all Bucky needed to know he was so screwed.

“Steve.”

“Yeah.”

“Please touch my cock. Please.”

“You sure you need that? You can’t come just like this?”

Sweat was gathering on Steve’s back and Bucky’s fingers slipped in it and the smell of the two of them together was more than enough to make his cock throb again.

“Please,” he whimpered, totally lost.

“With me. I’m so close.”

And he was, Bucky could feel it, like the orgasm was something they shared, part of both of them, not something they each experienced individually. Maybe there was something instinctive in the way Steve reached between them, relinquishing his grip on Bucky’s knee to squeeze his cock instead, and when he twisted his grip just right, right _there,_ Bucky exploded.

His whole body coiled tight, then shuddered through each delicious spasm of pleasure, feeling Steve over him, _inside_ him, sharing this pleasure back and forth.

Bucky’s legs slid down the bed, finally relaxing, and Steve lost all control of his arms and slumped, a boneless dead weight on Bucky’s chest.

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

Steve nuzzled at a sweaty curl of Bucky’s hair, stuck to his skin. Bucky smiled and petted the back of Steve’s neck, knowing this moment couldn’t last. For now, though, he’d ride the endorphins and the hormones and the way they smelled, and the thrumming of his nerves and the undeniable, completely perfect knowledge that he was Steve’s, and Steve was his.

“Better now?” Steve asked.

“Much,” Bucky said and kissed the perfect shell of his ear.

“Want me to pull out?”

Bucky shuddered and ignored the teasing little laugh in Steve’s voice.

“Not yet.”

Steve hummed. “Okay. If you’re hoping to go again I’m going to need a minute.”

Bucky laughed out loud then, wrapping both arms around Steve’s back and holding him closer. “Are you sure? It doesn’t feel like it even went down yet.”

“My god, Bucky,” Steve groaned, and Bucky laughed again.

He took a deep breath and relaxed. His brain supplied the word ‘content’, and it was strangely in Sam’s voice, and he decided not to share that with Steve. Not while Steve was still inside him.

Steve kissed over his jaw and their swollen lips met in that familiar tangle. A moment later and Bucky gasped, welcoming Steve’s tongue into his mouth and _holy shit_ , his cock twitched, and surely that wasn’t physically possible…

Bucky bit down on Steve’s bottom lip, tugging it, then licked away the sting.

“Hey, Steve?” he asked, arching up, pressing their chests together.

“Hmm?”

“Your minute’s up.”


End file.
